CHAPTER 13

Dean was still staring at the sleeping pair when Sam's lashes began to flutter and his sasquatch-sized limbs started twitching. The elder Winchester was on his feet and hovering over his brother by the time Sam was fully awake.

"Sam?" he greeted the green eyes the instant they opened. "Sam."

"Yeah," Sam acknowledged, his arm instinctively weaving its way in between his own face that of his anxious brother, urging Dean to back off a little.

"You okay?" Dean didn't wait for an answer. "Is Tash okay? What happened?"

Sam sat up, twisting around at the waist to check on Tasha himself before answering. She was still sleeping soundly. A million thoughts went through his head. Why had he said those words to her? What had he been thinking? Heck, what was she now thinking? He was still acutely aware of the pressure in his jeans from what had been going on before he had left the dream like a virgin running from Ron James and he covered the conspicuous bulge with an arm quickly, hoping like hell his brother hadn't noticed.

"Sam!" Dean urged, still waiting for an answer to his barrage of questions.

"She's fine," Sam assured him. "Sheldon tried and honestly, he came pretty close to succeeding, but I'm guessing you shot him in the head because he just keeled over."

Dean nodded in satisfaction, taking a step back. "Damn right I did."

Sam was quick to notice his brother almost looked pleased and the news of how close it had been seemed to relieve Dean of any sense of wrongdoing. "Okay," the elder Winchester said in his commanding hunter's tone. "Let's get our shit and get out of here." He moved to the table and started throwing things in the closest duffel.

"Why the rush?" Sam asked, though he was already following the order and grabbing the second duffel from the floor. "Shouldn't we wait until she wakes up?"

"Dude, I just shot a guy," Dean said matter-of-factly. "I tried to make it look like suicide but according to those cop shows you watch, they can probably figure it out from angles of blood spatter or some shit. We've been walking all over town looking for the guy and fifty people saw me attack him in the bar earlier. I'd say we'll be the prime suspects, as usual." He gestured towards Tasha. "Besides, she could be out all night. We don't know what he gave her."

They were packed in less than thirty seconds and Dean tossed Sam the second duffel before going over to the bed Tasha was lying on and sliding his arms underneath her. He picked her up swiftly under the knees and the shoulders, cradling her head against his collarbone, and carried her towards the door, nodding for Sam to open it for him. Sam did so, also opening the Impala's rear door and throwing the duffels in the trunk while Dean laid the girl gently in the back seat. Dean balled up his jacket as a pillow and tossed Sam the key to Tasha's room that he had in his pocket, ordering him to go get her stuff. Sam did so without arguing and had no sooner sunk his large frame into the Impala's passenger seat than the classic car roared out of the parking lot.

Once on the road and on the outskirts of the city, Dean began to question Sam about what had happened, starting with where Tasha was now.

"She's fine," Sam assured him. "I left her by a little lake in Oklahoma."

"Rocky outcrop up a hill?" Dean asked.

"Uh, yeah," Sam confirmed, surprised at how Dean would know that.

"Huh. She used to go there when she was in the foster homes," Dean explained almost wistfully. Sam wasn't sure, but he thought he detected a bit of jealousy that Sam had now seen the spot when Dean hadn't.

"She said she wanted to take me there next time we're in Oklahoma…" Dean continued but cut himself off when he caught his brother looking at him with a raised eyebrow. "Okay, what happened?" he deflected. "Tell me from the start."

"Fine," Sam conceded, though he wasn't sure how much detail he should tell his brother. After all, it had been Tasha's personal thoughts and it was bad enough she'd had him and Sheldon wandering around in there. On the other hand, he didn't really have the right to know intimate things about Tasha that Dean didn't.

"The first dream was Sheldon's doing…"

"Wait, the first dream?" Dean interrupted.

"Yeah, Sheldon just poked around in her head and kept picking out the worst memories he could find. He likes to put the girls through hell before he tops it off by raping them, remember?"

"Oh yeah," Dean ground out through gritted teeth.

"Well the first one was when her mother died," Sam continued.

"Shit," Dean swore quietly. "She came home and found her. How bad was it?"

"Bad," Sam admitted, remembering the bloody state Erin had been in and Tasha crying over her. "It was pretty gruesome. Anyway, I managed to change the dream into a nicer one with her and her dad in Peru," he went on.

"Way to go, Psychic-Boy," Dean cheered, his tone not entirely approving. Sam guessed that was because of his brother's disdain for anything psychic-related. Sam chose to ignore the comment.

"Then he took her to a warehouse. Her dad was there and Diego showed up."

"Bastard." Dean's grip tightened on the steering wheel. "In Chicago? Where Diego killed her dad?"

Sam raised an eyebrow at this revelation. He had known her dad had been killed by Diego when she was fourteen but hadn't heard any details. Apparently Dean had. Brian Malick had been hurt during the dream but Sam had pulled them out of it for fear of Diego killing Tasha and when they'd left, her father had still been alive. "Could have been," he admitted.

It dawned on Sam that a lot more than just sex took place in the couple of hours Dean spent in Tasha's room every night. His brother seemed to know all about the traumatic events and private hideaways in Tasha's life even though she had never spoken of them to Sam. He wondered briefly how many of Dean's secrets his brother had shared with her and suspected it was more than the emotionally repressed hunter had ever shared with anyone else. After the events of the past twenty-four hours, he knew without a doubt that Dean was in love with Tasha. And, he thought guiltily, just maybe so was he. He groaned inwardly at the memory of telling her that exact thing right before he woke himself up. It had just come out of his mouth before he'd had a chance to think about it, much like it had the first time he'd said it to Jessica. Of course, he'd been dating Jessica and she had said it back, definitely a more appropriate situation.

He struggled to refocus his thoughts to his relating of the dreamed events. "Then we hopped into a dream about that field outside of Nashville where we stopped," he continued.

"Your choice?" Dean asked, sounding vaguely amused.

"Hers actually," Sam shrugged. "I could tell it was a nice memory for her so I took us there." He did notice the hint of a pleased smile playing with his brother's lips as Dean stole a glance at the sleeping girl in the back seat. Obviously a fond memory for Dean as well. "Anyway, Sheldon showed up and, well, he killed you."

"Me? Why me?"

"To upset Tasha," Sam explained. "And trust me," he said with a heavy sigh at the memory of her anguish and despair as she clutched Dean's dead body, "It upset her."

"That bad?" Dean gave him a look that Sam thought seemed like a look of guilt. Only his big brother could manage to find a way to blame himself for Sheldon's choice of nightmare.

"Dude, it was horrible," Sam elaborated. "She was messed up. Said everybody was dead, that everybody died and please not you too." He realized as soon as he had spoken the words that he should have kept that part to himself. He knew his brother was losing hope that they would find a way out of his deal and therefore expected to be dead for real in just over three weeks' time.

Sam was silent for a moment, studying his brother's face. Dean seemed to be aware of the scrutiny because he kept his eyes forward and trained on the road. "Anyway," Sam continued, deciding now wasn't the time for that conversation. "Next came foster home number six."

Dean's head snapped around and whatever expression of guilt and sympathy he had there was wiped out and quickly replaced with one of anger.

Sam just shrugged, knowing the implications for Tasha went without saying. "Then he attacked her and you shot him just in time."

Dean was silent for another moment, the recounting of all the dreams clearly taking an emotional toll on him. "How close did he get?" he asked, his voice raspy with dread.

"Shirt ripped open, that's it," Sam assured him. "Tasha put up a good fight." A grin spread across his face. "Even stabbed him with that knife of hers."

Dean got a chuckle out of that image. "So how'd you end up on the other bed?" he asked, a crease of confusion appearing in his brow.

"Bastard shot me," Sam admitted.

Dean's eyes flew open and his head spun around towards Sam again. "Mother fucker!" he seethed. "If you'da died in the dream…"

"But I didn't," Sam placated quickly. "I woke myself up and went right back in."

"Oh, I am so glad I killed that guy," Dean declared fervently.

"Me too," Sam agreed truthfully. "There was no rehabilitating him. He was pure evil. Worse than some of the monsters we've killed by a long shot."

He got no argument from his brother on that one. They rode in silence for almost three hours, crossing the border into New Mexico to the east of Tucson. Dean threw a cautious glance into the backseat where Tasha was still sleeping soundly before finally speaking up in a quiet voice.

"Hey Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"I've been thinking."

"Uh-oh," Sam aimed for levity, sensing the heaviness of his brother's mood and hoping to steer his sibling away from the suspected upcoming round of Dean self-loathing and blame. It didn't work and his brother's stiff expression never wavered.

"I'm not gonna tell Tash about the deal."

"Dean!" Sam groaned in exasperation. "You have to. She's gonna find out sooner or later and we need to concentrate on finding a way out of it. We can't do that if we're tiptoeing around her to keep her from finding out the truth."

"That won't be a problem," Dean explained, not raising his voice to match Sam's but instead speaking in a strained and hushed tone.

"What do you mean?"

"Sam, everybody she's ever been close to in her life has died," Dean continued. "Everybody. They haven't left her or gone missing or taken off; they've all died." Sam was about to say something but Dean cut him off with a raised hand. "You saw it yourself in the dream where Sheldon killed me," he pointed out. "What she said…"

Sam remembered and suppressed a shudder. 'Everybody dies. Everybody's dead. Not you too, please.' He sighed. "Not telling her isn't going to make a bit of difference when she sees Hellhounds coming after you," he told his brother. He hated to be so blunt but it seemed his brother was being irrationally stubborn. It wasn't fair or wise to keep Tasha in the dark.

"She's not gonna see them coming," Dean continued. "Coz I'm gonna break it off with her before it comes to that."

"Dean, you can't…" Sam hadn't expected that answer.

"Yes, I can," Dean replied, his voice adopting a stern tone of finality. "Everybody dies on her, Sam. This time, I think it would be better if someone just walked away. She never has to know what happened. She can't ever know where I'm going."

"Dean..."

"She can't know, Sam. I don't want her to have to go on knowing that." Dean gave his brother a sympathetic look. "It's bad enough you have to know. I wanted to spare you that but you figured it out and…" he sighed. "And I'm sorry about that."

"Dean, you sound like you're dead already," Sam admonished. "We're going to find a way out of this deal."

"Well if we do, I'll call her back up," Dean shrugged, not sounding convinced in the least. "But just in case, as of tomorrow, it's just me and you again."

"And what's she supposed to do?" Sam asked, not sure if the knot in his stomach was from the thought of Tasha being alone or from the thought of never seeing her again. "She's got nobody." He remembered dream-Tasha telling him how alone she felt and that if Diego ever found her, nobody would even notice. Dean dumping her would leave her both hurt and completely alone in the world.

Dean's shoulders slumped and he let out a long exhale. "Dude, she's been by herself since she was eighteen. She can do the credit card scams better than you and she can hotwire a car faster than me." He kept his eyes trained on the road ahead. "She'll be fine," he added quietly, his voice strained.

Sam had no doubts Tasha could take care of her physical self; it was her heart he was worried about. But he had to admit, he knew that was going to get broken either way. At least Dean's plan would save her from reliving her biggest fear – someone she loves dying.

"Okay, you're right," he admitted grudgingly, though a new wave of nausea washed over him at the thought of Dean having to give up Tasha. Dean hadn't had very many close relationships and Sam was fairly certain he hadn't been in love with many women before, if any. The nomadic, emotionally guarded hunter had finally found some measure of happiness but now fate at its cruelest was ripping that away from him just like it had taken everything else. Living with the threat of impending death hanging over his brother for the past year, Sam had come to appreciate Dean for everything he had done for him and given him, things Sam had taken for granted his whole life. Besides getting his brother out of his deal, the thing Sam wanted the most in the world now was for Dean to find some peace.

"You're right about Tasha, but we're still gonna find you a way out of the deal," he added, giving his brother a long, hard stare. "Don't give up on me yet, Dean."

Dean granted him a half-hearted smile. "I'm not giving up," he said. "I'm just taking precautions."

They drove in silence for a few minutes, the Impala chewing up the tarmac of Highway 10 with a low, even rumble. Sam could still sense Dean's heavy thoughts and wasn't all that surprised when his brother came out with a rare, heartfelt admission. These days, with his deadline looming near, Dean's fear was tearing holes in his carefully constructed façade, giving Sam more frequent glimpses into the elder Winchester's troubled psyche. Right now, Dean was clearly dreading giving Tasha the news.

"I've never had to break-up with a girl before," he admitted with a soft laugh. "Usually I just leave town or lose the chick's number." His forehead creased in a frown of trepidation. "I never should have let her come along with us," he sighed, repeating the sentiment he had shared with Sam the night before.

"You didn't know it would turn into something so real," Sam defended.

His brother made brief eye contact before returning his focus back to the road. "I knew," he admitted. "I knew after about a week. And I should have broken it off then but I just wanted a little bit of happiness before... before I go. I thought I deserved that much."

"You do, Dean." Sam meant it.

"Yeah, but she didn't."

"I'm gonna fix this," Sam blurted, unable to bear the hurt and hopelessness in his brother's voice. "I'm gonna save you. There's gotta be a way out of it, Dean, we just haven' found it yet."

Dean swallowed. "Let's hope so," he said unenthusiastically. "Maybe we'll get lucky and find the Colt."

"We'll find something," Sam assured him in earnest. They fell back into silence, each lost in their own thoughts and neither said a word until they pulled up at a cheap, roadside motel a couple of hours before dawn to get some desperately needed shut-eye.

Sam woke up the night clerk to check-in and Dean carried Tasha into the room. He put her down on the farthest bed from the door, his gaze lingering on her face as he stood over her and he bent down to brush a stray curl from her cheek. With a sigh he took his boots and jacket off and lay down on his back next to her. Sam dropped himself on the other bed and within minutes, all three were lost in the depths of slumber.

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Dean awoke a slight start when he felt movement against his hip. The room was still dark though he could see narrow slivers of light sneaking their way around the heavy motel curtains. He turned his head and flexed his bicep only to find Tasha nuzzled into the crook of his arm, her slow, even breath warming his neck and her slender hand draped over his chest.

He was mildly surprised he hadn't woken up when she had first snuggled up against him; he wasn't exactly a heavy sleeper. He rotated his torso towards her a little, tilting his head to ghost a kiss on her forehead. "Tash, you awake?" he whispered softly.

"Mmm-hmm," she murmured sleepily, wriggling her body closer but not opening her eyes.

Dean smiled and slid his free arm over the curve of her waist, settling his head back on the pillow with his forehead practically touching hers. It made sense she would still be drowsy from the effects of the drug but it was a good sign she was at least awake enough to cuddle up to him. He decided to let her finish sleeping it off and enjoy the rare opportunity to have her sleep in his arms. Pulling his leather jacket gently over them both for warmth, he closed his eyes and let his whole body relax against hers. He wanted to savor every morsel of closeness he could get since this would probably be their last night together, their last moments spent like this.

Despite how comfortable he was and how wonderful it felt to hold her and feel the calm, even rise and fall of her chest against his, Dean didn't fall back asleep. Instead he stayed as he was for nearly three more hours, inhaling deeply as if trying to breathe her in, trying to stash her very essence somewhere so deep inside he'd still be able to feel it in Hell. Finally, he felt her stirring and although he desperately wanted the intimacy to last longer, he loosened his embrace and was graced with the sight of her soft, brown eyes flickering open.

"Mornin' sleepy-head," he greeted her. She replied with a groggy smile and a soft moan to indicate her pleasure at waking up in his arms. She ran her hand over his chest and shifted her knee higher up onto his thigh in a pretense of a sleepy stretch.

"Mornin' Dean," she muttered, flexing her shoulders and neck as she extricated herself from his gentle grip. She pulled herself over him and kissed him firmly on the mouth before sitting upright and looking around the room.

Sam was just sitting up on the other bed, his tired expression making evident the restlessness of his sleep over the past few hours.

"Someone wanna fill me in on exactly what happened?" Tasha asked, her wrinkled forehead demonstrating her obvious confusion about what had been real and what she had dreamt.

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Fifteen minutes later, Dean went in the shower and Sam found himself alone in the room with Tasha. She dug through Dean's duffel for a half-empty bag of chips and sank into one of the plastic motel room chairs, planting her bare feet on the cheap wooden coffee table.

"Wild ride, huh?" she smiled at the hunter who had been carefully avoiding eye contact with her.

"Uh, yeah, sure was," Sam answered, giving her a quick nod.

"Thanks, Sam."

"Huh?" He threw her a questioning look.

She rolled her eyes and grinned at him. "For coming in to get me, you dimwit."

"Oh. It was Dean that killed Sheldon."

"Yeah, but you took a big risk coming in with me. You even got shot." Her smile faded. "So thank-you," she added sincerely.

Sam gave her a quick 'you're welcome' shrug as he sat on the edge of the bed.

"So how's he handling it anyway?" she asked.

"Huh? Who? What?" Sam wasn't following. Shit! Does she think he told Dean about the kiss?

"Dean. Killing Sheldon," she explained. "He's a hard-core hunter but I hate that he had to do that. To be honest, I was kinda planning on doing it myself when we found him. I really didn't want him to have to. Or you," she added with a glance up at Sam that the hunter thought seemed a little awkward.

"You wouldn't have had a problem killing a human?" Sam asked incredulously.

She shook her head. "That guy? No qualms." She sounded confident in her reply and Sam was apt to believe her. "But you know how sensitive Dean is. He lets things chew him up inside. He's probably in there thinking how cold-hearted and inhuman he is that he was able to shoot a guy in cold blood."

Sam had never heard his brother described as sensitive before. Though he knew it to be true, it wasn't a side of Dean the hunter let show very often and most people didn't realize the depth of feeling hidden beneath his cocky façade. Sam found he wasn't really surprised with the accuracy of her assessment of his brother. "Normally I'd say you were right," he told her, "But this time, with that guy, I'm pretty sure he's okay with it."

"No angst?" she ventured with a half-hearted laugh that he couldn't help again thinking felt a bit awkward.

"Not about that," Sam confirmed.

She was quiet for a moment, the only sound in the room being the muffled noise of water running in the tiled shower of the washroom. When she did speak, the awkward had been dialed up a notch and Sam couldn't help but zero in on it.

"So, uh, you came out before me then?"

He shifted on the edge of the bed in discomfort. "Yeah," he nodded, keeping his wary reply simple until he knew where this conversation was going.

"What was the last thing you saw?" She seemed intent on finding an elusive chip at the bottom of the Doritos bag and was not looking his way.

"Uh, let's see," Sam stalled. "Sheldon died and I untied you and…that's right you dressed me up like a drag queen."

His deflection seemed to work for Tasha giggled. "Oh yeah. That was a good look for you."

"You're lucky I didn't return the favor," he quipped, the awkward atmosphere lifting slightly with the familiarity of the banter between them.

"Hey, I think I could pull off a boa."

Sam chuckled. "You're probably right. You could pull off pretty much anything."

And just like that the air became tense again. Jesus, what was with his constant display of foot and mouth disease these days?

Tasha's grin faded. "You picked out the next dream, …in Oklahoma?" she led.

"Yeah, it seemed like a good place to leave you."

She perked up a little at that. "You left?" she asked eagerly. "At what point exactly?"

Sam realized she was confused and didn't know if it had been the real him that she had kissed or a dream-version of him.

"Right away," he lied smoothly. "I didn't think I needed to stick around, Sheldon was dead." He relaxed his shoulders in a perfect display of relaxed and casual. "Why?" he asked innocently.

Tasha's shoulders relaxed visibly and she let out a deep exhale of obvious relief. "No reason, just wondering," she dismissed, digging for another chip. She mumbled something that Sam thought sounded like 'Just a bout of hero worship' but he couldn't be sure and didn't ask her to repeat it.

He wasn't sure if her relief was that they hadn't kissed or that he hadn't told her he loved her but the fact that she was relieved in the first place made her feelings abundantly clear. Though it wasn't lost on him that she initiated the kiss, dreamland or not, he decided his lie would put her, and them, at ease.

She was quiet another moment and it wasn't until she crumpled up the chip bag and tossed it into the garbage can with a perfect swish that she spoke.

"Remember the dream with my dad in the warehouse, when he told me to run and I refused and I tried to fight Diego?" she asked him softly.

"Yeah," he answered, lowering his voice to match hers.

"Well, in real life, I ran and Diego killed my dad."

Sam wasn't sure why she was telling him this. She had clearly already told Dean many of the details, but why would she now feel the need or want to tell him?

"I thought he would follow me," she continued. "My dad wasn't in the bloodline so Diego really didn't have any interest in him."

He realized suddenly how personal dreams were and his being there to see and actually experience something with her had given him a place within her outer walls. He had seen things of her life with more detail than she could ever explain or tell somebody else. Having shared these experiences with her had somehow given them some sort of connection, an intimate and personal link that he thought she must be reacting to now. She clearly wanted to get some of the guilt off her chest and Sam having been there seemed to have opened a door and taken their relationship to a higher level, one not so reliant on Dean being the common thing between them. A more direct friendship between them.

"You were fourteen," he said comfortingly. "It wasn't your fault."

"I think you of all people know how it works, Sam."

The hunter gave her a questioning look, not sure what she meant by that.

"Dean told me about how you blame yourself for your mom getting killed because the demon was after you. And you were a baby, you had to know it wasn't your fault. But all the logic and reason in the world doesn't make the guilt go away, does it?"

"No," he admitted. "No, I guess you're right."

This was a new side to Tasha Sam was seeing. Open and honest, sharing her feelings without the sarcasm and the teasing. He found himself quite liking this emo version of her and wondered briefly if this was the Tasha that Dean got every evening during their time alone. He wondered if she got an emo version of his brother at the same time. A slight pang of jealousy struck him and he wasn't sure if it was directed at Tasha or Dean.

He changed the subject and gave her a teasing smile. "So Dean tells you all my secrets? You two spend your alone time talking about me? How sad is that?"

He got a grin in response. "This is Dean we're talking about," she laughed. "His world revolves around you, remember? And he thinks if he talks about you then it keeps the conversation off him."

Sam was aware how dangerously codependent the brothers must seem to outsiders but Tasha had never offered judgment on that. Spending twenty-four-seven with them for two months, she must have wondered but didn't seem to find it strange or creepy, even though Dean always insisted on sleeping in the motel room with his little brother instead of with her. His thoughts were interrupted by the hunter in question emerging from the steamy bathroom in nothing but a towel.

"Now that's a sight for sore eyes," Tasha grinned, reaching for the towel with a giggle as Dean walked past her.

Sam couldn't help but smile as Dean tightened his grip on the towel's knot, laughing as he darted out of her reach. "I'd say you've got about four minutes of hot water left," he told her. "So unless you want to forfeit your turn to Sammy, you'd better get in there."

She jumped up quickly. "Sorry, Sam," she said grabbing a clean towel and heading towards the bathroom. "But saving my hide still doesn't earn you my warm shower."

When she had closed the door and the sound of running water started up again, Dean turned to Sam. "Okay, dude," he said, his smile gone. "I'm doing it when she gets out so make yourself scarce." He grabbed a t-shirt and shirt from his duffel.

"But Sam," he added hesitantly as the younger Winchester headed towards the door. "Don't go far."

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A/N: This was supposed to be the last chapter of Part 1 but it was getting long so I decided to post it in two chapters. The next and last chapter should be up soon. Hope you enjoyed it and as usual, I would love to hear what you think.